


Holiday Safety Tips for Vulcans

by katiemariie



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Cats, Christmas, Islam, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:46:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiemariie/pseuds/katiemariie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The holidays are a joyous time of year -- but with all the strange and exotic holiday decorations and activities, curious Vulcans can get themselves into a lot of trouble! To make sure the holidays are happy and safe for everyone, please read the following tips... Or, 3 times McCoy's Christmas spirit got Spock hurt and 3 times it just baffled him. Or, the inconvenient side of Vulcans evolving from cats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday Safety Tips for Vulcans

**Author's Note:**

> I took the safety tips from these three cat safety articles: [1](http://www.care2.com/greenliving/safe-fun-healthy-holidays-for-cats.html?page=1%22) [2](http://www.examiner.com/pet-health-in-utica/ten-holiday-safety-tips-for-your-cat) [3](http://www.catcarevetclinic.com/site/view/80391_HolidaySafetyTips.pml)

_1\. Be careful about sharing your favorite holiday treats with your Vulcan. Chocolate and many other types of foods can be dangerous._

“Leonard,” Spock said, peering at him from over a PADD, “might I inquire as to why you are using that sock to store confections?”

“What? This? It's Joanna's Christmas stocking. I'm sending it to her once we dock at Starbase 8.”

“Are you certain that is a suitable gift?”

“I know she's too old for this kinda stuff, but it's tradition. We do it every year.”

“I see.” Human traditions could be so strange. “Is the stocking always so large?”

“Yep. It's the same one I used when she was little. I send it to her and she sends it back a few months later.”

“Does this ritual perhaps stem from a Terran book series for young adults about pants with magical properties?”

McCoy gaped at him. “Spock, I don't know what goes on in that head of yours sometimes.” 

“The confusion is mutual.” Spock stared at his PADD for a moment before putting it down on the couch. “I realize this may be improper and counter to custom, but I cannot allow you to embarrass yourself and possibly damage your relationship with your daughter. You should not send this gift to Joanna.”

“Why not?”

“It is far too big. Although I have only met Joanna briefly, I know that stocking will not fit her.”

McCoy cracked a grin. “Spock—” He chuckled. “Spock, you don't wear a Christmas stocking.”

“Then what exactly do you do with it?” Spock found arguing about Leonard's use of the general you was less titillating and more frustrating as the years went on.

“You hang it on the fireplace and Santa fills it with candy and little presents.”

“Santa?”

“Santa Claus. Saint Nick? Kris Kringle? Father Christmas?”

“Ah, yes. The rotund, geriatric hermit who breaks into Christians' homes and bestows gifts depending on their moral character.”

“That'd be the guy.”

“Then why are you filling the stocking, if that is Santa Claus' duty?”

“Because—and I'm gonna let you in a little Earth secret here—Santa Claus isn't real.”

Spock leaned in closer to McCoy. “Does Joanna know this?”

“Yeah, like most kids, she figured it out when was about ten. God,” McCoy sighed. “I still remember the look in her eyes when she realized I was the one filling her stocking every year. It was like all the light in the world went out.” He shook his head, dropping one more piece of candy into the already-bulging stocking. “Well, I guess that's it.” He placed the stocking carefully on the coffee table, handing Spock the bag of remaining sweets. “You can have the rest of those, if you want. I'm gonna hit the shower.” He patted Spock on the knee, and went into their shared bathroom.

Spock peered at the candy—all dressed in tinfoil designed to resemble Santa Claus. Why invent a man only to reveal him to be an illusion? And then eat a facsimile of his body? 

“Fascinating.”

–

When McCoy came out of the shower, Spock was collapsed on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling with impossibly dilated eyes.

“Leonard,” he called, “I think I am dying.”

“What the hell happened?” McCoy asked, bustling over to the couch. He grabbed Spock's wrist and started counting heart beats.

“I ate Santa.”

“God, you're hallucinating. And your pulse is outrageous!” McCoy reached for his comm on the coffee table next to the—next to the empty bag of chocolates. “Spock, did you eat all those?”

Spock nodded. “I wanted to understand your exotic Christian customs.”

“Exotic Christian—I never! There had to be at least two hundred grams of sugar in those chocolates. Do you know what that can do to your nervous system?”

“You said I could eat them.”

“Not all at once!”

“As a doctor, you should have been more specific with your feeding instructions.”

“Don't you 'as a doctor' me! You're a damn scientist; you should've known what that sugar would do to you.”

“And the chocolate.”

“What?”

“I should've known what the chocolate would do to me.” Spock lifted his head up, jittering involuntarily. “Chocolate has a mild intoxificatory effect on the Vulcan nervous system.”

“A mild 'intoxificatory' effect? Do I need to wake M'Benga?”

“No, I assure you, I am not—”

“Intoxificated?”

“Precisely. I merely require rest, fluids, and... a bucket.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Merry Christmas.” As he went to fetch something for Spock to puke in, he could hear him mutter, “It's December tenth.”

–

_2\. For Vulcans that enjoy greenery, the Christmas tree might look like a yummy snack. To discourage nibbling, try mixing something distasteful (such as peppermint oil or Tabasco) in a spray bottle with some water and lightly coat the lower branches._

Cuddled up together in front of the tree, watching the yule log flicker on the viewscreen, McCoy could almost forget cleaning Spock's vomit off the very couch they sat on. That is, until Spock started heaving.

McCoy flew off the couch, in search of that bucket. “I thought you were feeling better!”

“I was, but now...” Ugh, all over the couch. Again. But green this time. Green as their Christmas tr—

“Spock, did you _eat_ the Christmas tree?”

“I may have sampled some of the lower branches.” He glared up at McCoy. “Roughage is important to the Vulcan diet.”

“You're a vegetarian; all you eat is roughage! And, besides, _it's a fake tree_!”

Spock primped his sweater. “I know that now.”

–

_3\. We all know Vulcans love to climb, and what better temptation than an indoor tree! To reduce the risk of a Christmas tree disaster, anchor your tree to the ceiling or wall using an eye hook and some wire or string._

McCoy was going through his embarrassingly large collection of Christmas socks when he heard a loud crash coming from their living room followed by... jingling?

“Spock!” he called, running towards the sound. “Are you alright?”

“I am uninjured,” Spock replied from under the tree.

“What the hell happened?”

“I was straightening the star on top of the tree when I appeared to have... lost my balance.”

“Lost your balance on what?” He looked around the room for a chair that Spock could've been standing on.

“On the branch upon which I was standing.”

“I see. So, you tipped over the tree while you were standing on it.”

“Yes.”

“You realize you're a grown man who just tried to scale a Christmas tree.”

“Yes. However, I am also a Vulcan. We are very adept climbers.”

“Frankly, that makes this even worse.”

McCoy could hear a small sigh from under the synthetic branches. “Can you please help me remove this tree from my person?”

“Nope.”

“No?”

“Not yet. I need to get my camera. I think I know what picture's going on our Christmas card next year.”

–

_4\. Burning candles are attractive to some Vulcans but Vulcans can also accidentally knock candles over or catch their ears in the flames. Electric candles might be a better choice._

“Listen, Spock,” McCoy said, leading Spock into their quarters, “I know all this Christmas stuff has been wearing on you—and maybe I went a little overboard with the decorations this year—but I want you to know...” He paused until their cabin door swished open, revealing an electric menorah resting on their coffee table—now trimmed with blue and white garland. “...your traditions are important to me, too.” He smiled. “Happy Hanukkah, Spock.”

An eyebrow raised. “I appreciate the gesture. However, Hanukkah ended three days.” A smile drooped. “Additionally, as far as I know, Judaism has never been practiced by any member of my family.”

“You're not Jewish?”

“No.”

“But you told me I couldn't send your mother my grandaddy's pulled pork recipe because of her 'Human religious traditions.'”

“Yes, because the recipe would not be halal.”

“Your mother's _Muslim_?”

“Yes. My maternal ancestry has been comprised of practicing Muslims as far back as the Eugenics Wars.”

“What about you?”

“I have found that Vulcan teachings and Islam are remarkably easy to integrate into a cohesive system of spiritual beliefs and practices.”

“Oh.” McCoy cocked his head to the side. “Is that why you didn't eat breakfast or lunch last month?”

“Your powers of perception are remarkable as always, doctor.”

–

_5\. Stress and chaos can be unhealthy for your Vulcan. Make sure he has a quiet place to escape to if the partying becomes too much for him._

The door swished close behind Chekov, muffling the celebratory noise from the next room to a dull roar. “I've brought supplies,” the ensign said, balancing an impressive pile of refreshments. Placing his bounty on the dresser, Chekov fished out a bottle, holding it up for all to see. “Vodka, anyone?”

Spock and M'Benga stared at him blankly.

“Of course. This is... what's your people's word for _treif_?”

“ _Haraam_ ,” M'Benga answered.

“However,” Spock started, “I would not say the two terms perform the same function within their respective religions. _Treif_ refers only to dietary laws, while _haraam_ refers to a wide variety of actions that include but extend beyond dietary laws. _Haraam_ is actually closer to the Andorian concept of—”

“Mister Spock,” Chekov cut in, “if I may speak freely... If I wanted to hear about other people's religions, I would be out there.” He nodded his head at the door. “With them.” He took a swig straight from the bottle. “Not that I haven't absorbed everything there is to know about Christmas through cultural osmosis.”

M'Benga nodded. “I think it's the songs. They're very catchy.”

“And they begin to be played long before Christmas Eve,” Spock added.

“Da,” Chekov said. “This year, Riley started singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in October. Now I know the names of all nine of those stupid, flying reindeer.”

“What I don't get,” M'Benga said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “is the fruitcake. They all seem to hate it—can't stop talking about how much they hate it—but they still keep making it. Every year.”

“I think,” Spock said, “they make the fruitcake precisely because they hate it.”

“Illogical, no?” Chekov asked.

“At first, it would appear so. But I believe the act is performed out of irony.”

M'Benga shook his head. “You can't eat irony.”

“Neither, apparently, can you eat fruitcake.”

–

_6\. Be sure to spend a little extra time with your alien friend during the holidays. A little extra attention from you may help ease some of the tension of the holidays for your Vulcan._

When the party was over and the last guest had left, Spock was still holed up in their bedroom. “Hey,” McCoy said, leaning on the doorframe. “You and the other bah humbugs have a good time?”

Spock rose from the bed. “We had a very interesting discussion on the merits of exotic Christian cuisine.”

“'Exotic Christian.'” McCoy rolled his eyes. “You're gonna keep finding an excuse to say because it gets my goat.”

Spock smirked. “I was unaware you owned a bovid.”

“Ha, ha. Cut the sass or I'll forget all about giving you an early Christmas present.”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed.” He pulled a small plant from behind his back, placing it in Spock's hands. “Here—and before you get any wise ideas, it's poisonous so I better not see you eating it.”

Spock twirled the plant's stem between his thumb and forefinger. “ _Viscum album_?”

“Yep, mistletoe.”

“I assume this has some cultural significance I am unaware of.”

“That'd be right.” He smiled. “There's an old, exotic Christian custom that says if two people meet under the mistletoe, they have to kiss.”

“I see.”

“I figured this was a custom you could enjoy without nearly killing yourself. You put this wherever you want, and I'll have to kiss you there.”

Spock considered the mistletoe, a smirk forming on his lips. “Wherever I want?”

McCoy took Spock's hand, lowering the mistletoe to about hip level. “Wherever you want.”

As McCoy sunk to his knees, Spock muttered, “Merry Christmas, indeed.”


End file.
